


The Unknown

by bubjarpad



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Episode: s14e20 Moriah, Episode: s14e20 coda, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Traumatized Sam Winchester, Violence, protective!Dean, this fic doesn't have a happy ending i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 14:57:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18719374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubjarpad/pseuds/bubjarpad
Summary: As he watched Jack die, he felt his faith in God and any higher being who he ever believed was protecting him, die too.





	The Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at midnight after desperately needing some hurt!sam and protective!dean content after the outcome of 14.20. enjoy my little episode coda / what i hope happens at the start of season 15. this is unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. enjoy and please leave feedback as this is my first fic <3
> 
> twitter: bubjarpad  
> tumblr: bubbalecki

The bunker was quiet, too quiet. Drop a pin and hear it echo through the halls quiet. A sickening quiet that made Sam’s skin crawl because that quiet now replaces the spirit and soul that was Jack.

Jack died. Chuck ruthlessly killed him in the cemetery because he wanted to. Because he could. Because he was a “problem”. Because he was scared and because he wanted to be entertained. Sam felt sick to his stomach about how his God, a God that he prayed to and had faith in for decades, sent him and his family to hell and back, figuratively and literally, for his own enjoyment.

Entering the library with Dean and Cas in tow, he threw his bags onto the table and groaned in pain, reaching up to grasp at the gunshot wound in his left shoulder. He had blood slowly dripping down the side of his face and several slashes and bites littering his body from the fight that ensued after they were swarmed by the several zombies Chuck unleashed. They managed to fight their way out of the swarm, slashing and stabbing their way through, using the monsters slow speed to their advantage. After making it out, they all began quickly staggering back to the car, Dean wrapping his arm around Sam’s shoulders to help him, knowing he was injured the worst.

But the pain Sam felt physically was nothing in comparison to the mental beating he was giving himself. He had stopped running when they were halfway back to the car, turning back to see the pack of zombies crowded around where Jack’s lifeless body was. 

“Jack!” He yelled, turning to run back to save his body. His son’s body. But Dean’s grip around his shoulder’s tightened and he turned him back around firmly.

“Sam, it’s too late. I’m sorry, but he’s already gone. We need to leave, now!”

Sam kept his head down, trying to bury the event's of today, quickly fleeing from the library and disappearing down the hallway. Dean watched him go, his chest aching, both for his brother and in his own grief at the loss of Jack and at the new turmoil they’d unleashed on the world.

“I’m sure he’ll be okay, Dean, he just needs some time. I think we all do.” And with that, Cas patted Dean on the shoulder, his usually bright blue eyes dull and his shoulders sagged. He walked away in search of a first aid kit to help patch the brothers up. Mary wasn’t wrong when she said that her boys always had someone watching over them.

As Sam approached his room, he lingered in the doorway for a moment, peering around the blank slate as tears gathered in his eyes. The beige bedspread was pulled up and tucked in tight, a stack of 3 books sitting symmetrically lined up on the desk. 2 lamps sat neatly in the centre of each nightstand and rows of files from cases and research lined his back wall.

Through everything; through losing Jess, through his visions, through losing Dean to hell, through going to hell himself, through being soulless and the trials and being possessed by Gadreel and somehow getting their mother back just to lose her again, Sam had always, somehow, kept himself together (for the most part). Despite his trip to the loony bin and a couple of breakdowns, Sam was learning more and more each day about the importance of remaining calm and steady in the eye of the storm. But he was also learning more and more each day about the importance of family, and how that often meant setting aside his own needs for the needs of his blood.

He had already experienced that several times, especially recently with losing Dean to Michael. For the months that dragged on without his brother by his side, he barely ate or slept or showered or thought about anything else besides how to save his brother. He became a shell, a badly-oiled machine, until he finally got his brother back and could breathe without feeling like a heavy weight was crushing his chest. The thought of ever having to live without Dean again was enough to paralyse him in fear.

He figures that’s a little of what his life will be like now, without Jack. A constant ache woven neatly and tightly between his ribs. He can’t decide if knowing that this is the end of the road for Jack is better or worse. Sam knew that there was always an aspect of uncertainty that comes with the life of a hunter. One morning you’re in the bunker, surrounded by family and doing research and feeling content and safe, and later that night that same family is burning your body on a pyre.

Sam had decided a while ago that he prefers the unknown. Sure, he always expects that someday soon, he and Dean and Cas and, well, Jack, will die. But it’s easier for him to ignore that and pretend like everything is good.

But right now, everything was not good.

He stumbled forward into his room, slamming the door behind him and flinching at the loud bang it made. It reminded him a little too much of the cage. He quickly buried that thought away.

Feeling drunk on the pain and guilt he felt thrumming through every fibre of his being, his vision tunnelled and, on sudden impulse, he reached forward and grabbed one of the bedside table lamps, ripping it from it’s plug and throwing it across the room into the brick wall, glass and ceramic shattering everywhere. Adrenaline that was built on the guilt and anger and desperation that he’d been clinging to for the better part of a year began pumping through his veins and, before he knew it, he proceeded to do the same with the other lamp. And the books on his beside table. Storming across the room, he felt his face getting hotter and a lump form in his throat. In one swift movement, he swiped all the case files off of his back shelf and into a huge pile on the ground.

As papers flew and created a gust in his room, a violent and hiccuping sob suddenly surfaced. Through his anger, he didn’t realise he was about to cry, but now that he’d started, the floodgates opened for the first time in a long time, and hot tears started mercilessly streaming down his face.

All the anguish and guilt and despair and grief that he had been holding back from losing Dean for months to an archangel, and from losing Mary, and from now losing Jack, it had all become too much for Sam to carry inside him anymore. The levee was, once again, broken.

He punched the brick wall several times, crying out in pain until his hand bled and he was sure he’d broken a few knuckles, before he collapsed in a heap on his now messed up bed.

In between his sobs, he heard a pair of feet rushing down the hall, slowing down and coming to a halt outside his door. He could sense the hesitancy in their actions. But he could also feel panic and worry and love radiating from their actions too. He knew it was Dean.

He didn't even bother knocking, opening the door to a sight he never thought he’d see. Sam, sitting cross-legged in the centre of his bed, bright red cheeks glowing from the tears that were spilling hot down his face and onto his neck, mixing with the blood that covered his cheeks. The floor was covered in papers and glass and Dean’s heart ached for his baby brother. He always saw himself as Sam’s protecter, as his parental figure. But it killed Dean knowing that, no matter what he did, he couldn’t save Sam from his own huge, sensitive heart. He couldn’t save Sam from his own feelings that he could tell were currently tearing him apart.

“Sammy…” He spoke softly, careful not to startle him. But the second he spoke, Sam started sobbing once again, staring up at Dean with huge, puppy dog eyes and a wobbly lip. And in that moment he looked like a young child. A 6 foot tall, broad shouldered, floppy-haired child.

Dean immediately moved and sat next to Sam on the bed, opening his arms wide, to which Sam quickly shuffled over and leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder, his tears beginning to soak Dean’s shirt, too far gone to care about being embarrassed anymore. Dean wrapped his arms around his back, gripping him so tightly that he knew it would leave a bruise. He didn’t think anything he said would make Sam felt better, so he just held him, running his hands through Sam’s hair.

Sam found it grounding. Through all the anger and pain and grief, he felt somewhat whole again in his brother’s arms, beneath his warm touch. He knew the world outside their front door was chaotic right now and, for the first time in a long time, Sam was really scared of that same unknown that he'd come to find comfort in over the years.

Because everyone he couldn’t save during his lifetime of hunting had ultimately died for nothing. Everyone he’s ever loved or cared about who had died, died for nothing. Jack, a young and powerful nephilim who had practically become their son, died for nothing. For a while, Sam wanted him dead, sure. After what he did to Mary, he couldn’t feel anything but anger and hatred towards the kid. But that was until Sam realised that he was, at the end of the day, just a kid with powers that were often beyond his control. And after Sam’s experience with his own supernatural powers, he really, truly got it.

Sam felt so helpless, knowing that the way he was feeling right now, this deep and seemingly endless ache, was all for nothing. For nothing but for Chuck, who he knew was sitting back right now, looking down on Sam clutched tightly in Dean’s arms sobbing. Who he knew had a bright grin on his face whilst doing so. So yes, it was for nothing. Because, as he watched Jack die, he felt his faith in God and any higher being who he ever believed was protecting him, die too.

“Shh, Sammy, I know, I know little brother. I’m right here, we’re safe right now. I’m not going anywhere. Not today.” Dean’s voice wavered as they clung to each other tighter. He couldn’t make promises to Sam that he knew he wouldn't be able to keep. They both knew they were screwed, and no amount of praying to their useless and remorseless God could save them now. The brother's only had each other to rely on now, just like always. But for some reason, that thought wasn't at all comforting to either of them right now. Not when they considered everything and everyone they’d lost along the way.

And at that, Sam only sobbed harder.


End file.
